


Silver Sweet Tooth

by angelwing



Category: Phantom of the Paradise (1974)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gay?? It's just really gay, Kissing, Licking, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 22:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwing/pseuds/angelwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beef can't bake, but when Winslow voices insecurities one morning, Beef takes it upon himself to create something special to try to cheer up his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Sweet Tooth

Powdered sugar. Butter. Milk. Vanilla.

Beef checked over the ingredients in the cookbook again, glancing back and forth between that and the items he had set out on the counter, making sure he had everything. Already he was covered in flour; his apron had caught most of it but his shoulders and face and hair were dusted with the white powder as well, not to mention his shoulders (which were bare, as was the rest of him beneath the apron). There was also some cake batter on his cheek and the front of his apron that had been the result of a mixer _malfunction_. Making the batter had been an incredibly complicated, tedious, and admittedly rather terrible process. At least it was done for now. It was currently in the oven, hopefully rising and solidifying into something cake-shaped. 

Luckily, according to the cookbook that was the hard part. And it _had_ been hard. There was no room for errors in cake baking, the cookbook had been quick to reminded him in the introduction. Each egg had to be cracked gently, you could not get any shell in the mix or you would have to fish it out, or start over altogether should it shatter too much. God, _too much_. That was a phrase Beef was sick of thinking. Adding too much flour or too much salt or too much baking powder would ruin it. You could never add “too much.” 

Although he was not exactly a clumsy person, Beef had never relied on absolute tedious perfection to get him through things. Winslow was much better at that sort of thing - Winslow could spend hours at a time on a single line of music, inspecting it over and over, humming it to himself over and over, changing the notes just the tiniest bit and then humming it over and over yet again, calling in Beef and asking him to sing it, then sing it at a slightly different octave, then sing it at the same octave but with a _little_ more inflection on that one word in the middle. He could spend months on the chorus of a song, going over the meaning of each word, the weight, the rhythm, the rhyme. Asking Beef again and again, “Well, does _this_ sound okay?” And Beef, admittedly, always thought it sounded perfect. 

This was probably why Winslow was a better cook than Beef. 

But Winslow as asleep right now. Last Beef had seen him he was passed out over his piano. Beef could not imagine it was a particularly comfortable way to sleep, slouched over with your head pressing against a metal mask, which was pressing against a hard keyboard. But Winslow had trouble sleeping as it was; he was a terrible insomniac and when his intense focus on his music wasn’t keeping him up, his anxiety or his nightmares were. Just seeing Winslow sleep at all was a blessing, and Beef did not want to try to move him to a more comfortable location in fear of waking him. 

And besides, Beef did not want Winslow to do this. This was a surprise _for_ Winslow, after all. 

And with the cake in the oven, all Beef had left to do was make the frosting. That was, supposedly, the easier part. The book recommended a simple frosting that only contained a few ingredients, and Beef could not see himself messing that up too terribly. 

The first step was to simply add powdered sugar to a bowl. Beef could do that. Next was adding butter - something Beef also felt capable of doing even with his limited baking knowledge. Now, he just had to beat the two together. 

The mixer currently lay in the sink, covered in cake batter - the same cake batter that had, because of the same damn mixer, gotten all over his apron and a bit on his face. It was a finicky device, an electric mixer that had to be plugged in and moved around in the bowl by hand. It was a good thing Beef was muscular, because it took a pathetic amount of strength and energy to do. Beef sighed, having been hoping he would not have to use the thing again, and very reluctantly rinsed it off before turning it on and placing it into the bowl with the powdered sugar and butter sitting in it. At first things went well; Beef managed to easily blend the butter into the sugar to create a thick, creamy substance, and even managed to add in the vanilla extract. It wasn’t until he got to adding the milk, the final ingredient the recipe called for, that things took a turn for the worst. 

Beef sighed, eager to get this process over with, as he placed the mixer once more into the frosting bowl and- 

“Oh- yikes!” 

Beef gasped out and jumped back, but it was too late. The frosting he had been making went everywhere, including all over him; his face, shoulders, arms, and apron, not to mention the floor and the surface of the counter. The bowl toppled over, landing on the ground with a loud clanging sound, and Beef watched as the frosting he had made went virtually everywhere except in the bowl where it belonged. The electric mixer was still in Beef’s hand, whirring profusely. He turned it off and all but slammed it down onto the counter, nearly breaking it, and walked to the sink. 

He was covered in the sticky sweet stuff. Beef had never had much of a sweet tooth to begin with (his dietary weakness took the form of potato chips, french fries, and other greasier, saltier foods), and even if he was a fan of sugary treats, he would not have wanted it like this. He turned on the faucet and put a paper towel beneath it for a moment, and just as he began to wipe the frosting off of his arm he heard from behind him, 

“Beef…?” 

Beef jumped and turned, eyes wide, to face Winslow, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen. With his metal mask on it was impossible to read his expression, but with the way his mouth hung open just a bit Beef was able to guess it was a look of surprise. And Beef supposed he deserved that, what with how he looked right now, naked aside from the apron he wore (it was actually Winslow’s; a plane white apron with the words “Kiss the Cook” in cursive beside a big pink kiss mark), his curly hair dusted with flour and his face covered in the frosting he had attempted to make. The smell of cake came from the oven and frosting was everywhere. Quite frankly, Winslow had every right to be shocked. 

“Beef, what are you… doing…?” Winslow asked warily, taking a step into the kitchen. Even with his robotic growl of a voice, Beef could hear the utter confusion in his tone. 

Sighing a little, Beef lightly kicked the now-mostly-empty frosting bowl. “Justttt trying to make you a little something,” he admitted with a little chuckle, embarrassed. If only he had at least had time to clean up before Winslow woke up… “I, um, you were upset about your teeth earlier.” 

“My teeth?” Winslow repeated with surprise. 

Beef nodded. “When you were brushing your teeth this morning you were upset. Talking about how you hate your metal teeth and how much of a pain they are.” 

Winslow rolled his one visible eye. “I know what I _said_ , Beef. But why this?” He walked over to Beef now, glancing briefly to the oven as he did. Because of the fact that he was blind in one eye and his mask limited his vision, he had to turn his head awkwardly just a bit to get a good look at all of Beef, and he was not subtle with the way his eye traveled from the top of Beef’s curly hair all the way down to the bottom of his apron with curiosity. 

“Well, I just thought, um…” Beef was dreadfully, painfully humiliated, and although he typically craved being close to Winslow, he found himself taking a little step back now, as if worried Winslow would not want to be close to him despite the fact that he had willingly walked over to him in the first place. “I thought it’d be nice to remind you that you don’t need to worry about cavities or anything…” 

Winslow fell silent for a moment at that, as if he needed a moment to fully take this information in, before a little smile crossed his black-painted lips. Beef felt himself relax a bit. Winslow did not smile particularly often - Regardless of the context, whenever he did Beef could not help but feel as if the sun was coming out after a cloudy day. 

“But you don’t even like baking, Beef.” Winslow said, and Beef was sure he could hear a rough little robotic chuckle under Winslow’s breath. 

Beef did not have much time to dwell on this, adorable as it was, however, for at that moment Winslow took a step forward. He then leaned in and promptly ran his tongue up Beef’s cheek, licking the frosting off of it. Beef’s face went red hot and he resisted the urge to turn to look at Winslow directly, for he didn’t want Winslow’s mouth to leave his cheek. 

“Mm, it’s not bad.” Winslow murmured, although with his robotic voice it came out as more of a croak. Beef didn’t care. 

He especially didn’t care when Winslow repeated what he’d done before, licking Beef’s cheek again, this time licking off the cake batter that had splattered onto his cheek earlier. In contrast to Winslow’s cold, sharp metal teeth (which Beef was no stranger to; he had learned during a bad canker sore that appeared shortly after an especially passionate evening that Winslow’s teeth, pretty and shiny as they were, were probably best to be avoided), Winslow’s tongue was soft and warm and wet and Beef was blushing terribly. 

“Winslow…” Beef breathed, surprised by how breathy his own voice was. 

Winslow pulled away a little to look at Beef with his one good eye and Beef felt like he was going to melt. For a moment, Winslow looked like he was going to say something. He opened his mouth, then shut it again and ran his tongue lightly over his own dark lips. He did not give Beef time to say anything either, for Winslow now leaned in to run his tongue over Beef’s chin, licking up from his jaw to his ear. 

Beef was considering saying something; making sure Winslow was alright. Not that Winslow was acting like anything was _wrong_ , but particularly affectionate behavior was uncommon of him. He was typically more reserved and a little distant. He meant well, of course, but he struggled with interpersonal interaction. But Beef did not feel like trying to interrogate Winslow right now - especially when Winslow was taking a step to move in front of him only to use this as an opportunity to lean in and kiss Beef right on the nose. Beef could barely see the smudge of black lipstick he left, and could not be bothered to even try to be upset. 

“You’re so… you’re so good to me, Beef.” Winslow said now, and Beef could barely comprehend how he could alternate between speaking with such soft sincerity while licking his cheek, then his chin, then bending over just a little to reach his neck and slowly dragging his tongue up until it reached his chin again. He planted another kiss there, leaving a big black kiss mark. Beef hadn’t even gotten frosting on his neck, but there was no way in hell he was about to complain. 

Beef’s cheeks went even redder by how very weak and breathless his own voice sounded when he said, “Well, you deserve it.” He squeaked when Winslow licked the area just between his neck and shoulder, licking off frosting and flour. Winslow’s mouth closed on his collarbone and Beef could feel his teeth, shiny and cool and metallic, against his skin, but he did not bite down. Winslow sucked gently, his tongue, so soft and warm in contrast to his teeth that the sensation made Beef shiver a little, pressing against Beef’s skin for a moment, really taking a moment to taste him. 

When Winslow pulled away and gave Beef’s cheek another kiss (and leaving another black smudge of lipstick there), Beef managed to finally form more coherent words, but they came out quick and flustered. “I never had a boyfriend; um, growing up, I didn’t think it’d ever be possible, I thought I’d be alone. When I went into the music industry it just seemed more impossible, I never thought-” He was cut off when Winslow kissed him full on the lips, and his teeth gently - so, so gently and carefully - pressed into Beef’s lower lip to nibble at it. 

With Winslow’s head at a slightly awkward angle so that his metal beak would not poke into Beef too painfully (it pressed against his cheek a little even now), the kiss could not last too long, and he soon pulled away. But he stayed close, so close that he could feel Beef’s breath, which was still shallow and trembly, against him. Quietly, Winslow said, “I didn’t think I would either. Look at me.” He glanced down at himself, at the black leather suit he wore, at the cape that draped over his shoulders, and the leather gloves that covered his hands, and the big electric box that hung on his chest. And beneath that was even worse, burned and scarred and mangled, voiceless and hideous. But Beef, somehow, never seemed to care. The thought encouraged Winslow to lean in and gently nibble at Beef’s ear, earning another little squeak from Beef. 

“You’re in a good mood,” Beef said awkwardly. 

Winslow’s laugh came out electric and distorted from his metal voice box, but Beef still thought it was cute. “I just can’t believe it!” he admitted, giving Beef another peck on the cheek (a kiss, that is; Winslow was careful not to _actually_ peck him with his sharp metal beak). “After this happened-” (he reached up to gently touch his own mask, placing his gloved fingers on the side of it) “-I didn’t… I never thought I would wake up to someone like you in my kitchen trying to bake me dessert because I felt bad. I… That never even crossed my mind, nothing like that even occurred to me.” He suddenly laughed again - maybe it was more of a giggle, it was hard to tell when it all came out robotic - and added, “In nothing but an apron…” 

Beef opened his mouth to reply but was quickly shut up by another kiss. When Winslow pulled away to kiss his jaw Beef managed out, “I don’t care about the mask and the voice box, Sugar… you’re so sweet and so passionate and so kind and c- mm!” He sucked in a breath and muffled a little squeal when Winslow nipped at his neck. “-cute. So cute.” 

Winslow placed a hand on Beef’s arm and was kissing down his neck when suddenly a loud _BEEP BEEP_ rang out from the oven. Winslow jumped in surprise, his eye going wide and his grip on Beef’s arm tightening, and Beef grinned. “Cake.” 

“What?” Winslow asked, straightening himself up and stepping away from Beef. 

“The cake in the oven, it’s done.” Beef explained, and he walked to the oven to turn it off. “Um… I was _going_ to make frosting, but-” 

“It was delicious.” Winslow interrupted. His mask hid most of his blush. “Why don’t you try it again? I can use the mixer this time, if you want.” He walked to the bowl on the ground and picked it up, placing it in the sink and rinsing it out. 

“If you’re helping me bake now,” Beef said, walking to the refrigerator to restock on the ingredients that had been wasted (although, come to think of it, they really hadn’t been wasted at all) on his last attempt, “You should take all _your_ clothes off too-” 

“Not a chance.” Winslow glanced back to Beef and flashed him a smile before he finished rinsing the bowl and wiped it dry with a towel. He walked over to wipe the frosting off of the counter. 

Beef set the ingredients down and watched Winslow, briefly distracted just by admiring him, how gentle and graceful and precise he was with his movements. Then, when Winslow was finally done cleaning up and he set the towel in the sink, Beef asked cautiously, “After we’re done baking?” 

Winslow glanced to Beef again and gave a little nod. He handed the bowl to his boyfriend. “After we’re done baking.” Winslow smiled again, a sort of devious, amused smile. “And after you’ve cleaned all that lipstick off your face.” 

-end

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have an excuse for this?? I just . this started as a joke but then it wasn't anymore and I realized I actually unironically wanted to write this into a real actual fanfiction and so I did and I hope somebody out there appreciates the work I put into this @ Paul Williams, Brian De Palma, Gerrit Graham, and William Finley wherever your soul rests if any of you ever see this I hope you liked reading this gay story that was somehow inspired by your incredible movie


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